


Technique

by meirenyu



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Dirty Talk, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, GMM Episode, M/M, Maneater Rhett, Pissed Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meirenyu/pseuds/meirenyu
Summary: Link's furious, and Rhett has just the technique to chill him out.





	Technique

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [S09E98 GMMore](https://youtu.be/B7JKb4OQ-f8) wherein Rhett gives Link only half of a victory pedicure and wherein he also makes a crass statement that leaves Link a little hot around the collar.
> 
> I figured Rhett deserved a chance to finish what he started. Hope y'all like filth.

Link tried to ignore the way his jaw seemed to grind of its own volition, a tightness that belied the fact that everything was not all- _fucking_ -right. He’d damn near slammed the office door shut behind him as he slung his lean frame into his chair. He hadn’t even bothered putting his shoe back on after they’d finished filming his victory pedicure from Rhett, content to just carry it along as he stormed away from the set amidst Rhett’s bark to the crew to just let Link go. He hoped Rhett would follow his own orders.

 _That son of a bitch._ His off-color joke about all his precious _yard children_ was so completely inappropriate, it made Link see red. And the way that rat bastard had just teased and babbled and prolonged the stupid pedicure, just...

He threw the shoe hard against the door and growled, sinking his face into his shaking, damp hands. When the door opened and closed quietly, he refused to look up, zeroing in on the sound of steady footsteps that ended in a sigh and the rattle of an abused office chair next to him, then the rustle of papers, then the soft, rhythmic click of a keyboard.

“Would you _please_ keep it down?” Link hissed. The typing paused a moment, then proceeded as before. Link jerked towards Rhett with a kind of gentle, stupid fury, but Rhett remained cool, focused on his computer, the very image of measured serenity. Link fought the urge to throw his other shoe right at the jackass’ tiny head. The urge died somewhat as Rhett continued typing away. Link knew he was being studied from the corner of Rhett’s eye, but even though he wanted to be pissed off, he just sighed deep in graceless defeat.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Rhett asked, low and distant, eyes still trained on his work, like Link was some feral animal that required the direst of caution and deference.

“No,” Link bit through grit teeth. Rhett frowned. A beat, then Link reluctantly asked, “Talk about what, exactly?” Rhett turned to him and steepled his fingers together.

“Talk about how you damn near flew off the handle on camera?” He suggested knowingly. Link scoffed. “You’re not exactly hard to read, Neal.”

He turned away from Rhett’s hawkish eyes as he grumbled, “I don’t know what you’re-”

It was Rhett’s turn to scoff, cutting Link off mid-denial. He had known the blue-eyed hot-head for too damn long to be fooled in the slightest by the squaring of shoulders and scrunching of forehead and deepening of a frown that Link always wore as a disguise when Rhett called him out on his bullshit. Rhett rose from his chair and stretched, lazily slinking over to the low sofa the two shared when they were creating new worlds together. He smirked, stretching one lean leg out atop the coffee table. “C’mon, bo. This is me you’re talking to.”

Link glared at him, swiveling around in his chair to face the taller man head on. “ _Yard children_? You asshole.” Rhett started to speak, to defend himself, but Link had already broken the seal on his poorly suppressed anger. “That’s a.. a… a slave term. You can’t just-”

“Link, I know,” Rhett raised his voice, effectively cutting off a sound haranguing. “It just came out. I wasn’t thinking. People back home talk a lot different from how they should.” Link jolted out of his seat and marched over to the coffee table between the two of them. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to double down!” He almost shouted, fighting hard to control his volume and shaking breath. “Like, gah! Can’t you just shut up sometimes?” His eyes were aflame, fists clenched hard at his sides. Rhett watched him with hooded eyes, considering. Link wanted him to say something, but Rhett just reclined there before him, long and cool, clearly not taking this very seriously. In a wave of spite, Link shoved Rhett’s leg off the table. “Well?”

Rhett readjusted his position, meeting Link’s angry gaze, his own face slackening. Slowly, he pointed at his mouth, gesturing that his lips were zipped. Link fought a smirk, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“You idiot, I didn’t mean now,” Link said in a voice that verged on tender, most annoyed at the blooming smile he now wore, echoing Rhett’s own. Rising again from the sofa, Rhett dug down into his pocket.

“Here,” he said, plucking out a small pink bottle. “I know how to make it better.” Link’s eyes narrowed on the bottle moments before his cheeks grew pink. He turned away towards his desk, but Rhett caught his arm in a loose grip.

“I don’t want you touching my feet,” he groaned robotically, that damned grin nearly tripling in size. Rhett turned him around.

“Liar,” he whispered, looking down at Link, a playful intensity compelling the bespectacled man to stop pretending. Still, he hesitated, an opportunity Rhett was more than happy to exploit. He quirked one thick eyebrow and wistfully sighed, “Well, I mean, if you want to go around with only one foot painted… like some kind of clown…”

The blush grew on Link’s high cheeks. His eyes dropped to the floor as he mumbled, “Rhett, you know how sensitive my feet are.” The admission brought a low heat to Rhett’s belly. He felt his pulse rush tight in his throat.

“I told you earlier,” he said, all charm and self-assurance, “I’ve got a technique.” Link finally looked up at him, and the reluctance Rhett found in his pale blue eyes was the most welcome challenge he’d faced all week. “Lay down on the sofa. I’ll be right back.” 

He left Link and the room behind in his rush to the restroom, thanking the universe that the crew were all off doing their own things, not loitering around to ask him why he was carrying a bowl of water and a towel back to his office in such haste. When he returned to their shared space, Link looked up at him from where he reclined, now barefoot, his jeans rolled up to his calves. “What’s the water for?”

Rhett set the bowl gently down on the coffee table as he slid his frame down onto the sofa with Link, pulling his soft feet into his lap. “You won a full pedicure, fair and square,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“You threw the competition,” Link corrected him. “You admitted it.” Rhett just smirked and reached for the towel, dipping it into the warm water and squeezing.

“Still…” He began, reaching for the unattended foot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles with the rough cloth into the sensitive skin of Link’s arch. He nearly groaned when Link’s whole body jerked at the sensation. “Ticklish?” He chuckled. Link’s pink cheeks nearly blazed scarlet as he briskly nodded. He leaned all the way back, resting his head on the armrest as Rhett scrubbed the day’s worth of sweat from both his tired feet.

“You can stop here,” Link said, his voice breathy. “That’s fine.” Rhett watched him for a moment, blue eyes screwed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, fists balled behind his head, body high strung. Link cracked an eye to see what had Rhett so hesitant.

“No,” Rhett whispered, his voice unwinding like a deep current, “I should really learn to finish what I start.” Link screwed his eyes shut again, as he nodded his tacit agreement. Rhett grabbed the man’s right foot and pulled it up nearly to his chest, digging sure fingers into the sore flesh of the heel. Link’s mouth fell open in a silent sigh. “So,” he began, a low rumble that seemed so right in the silence that had fallen between them. “How did those oysters feel? Oozing between your toes, all slippery like that?”

“Gross,” Link practically panted. “Real gross.”

“Yeah?” Rhett asked. “Gross because of how it felt?” He ran his thumb in a firm line down Link’s sole. Link frantically chewed his soft lower lip. “Or gross because you were caught on camera all filthy like that?” Link nodded vigorously, sucking in a deep sigh as Rhett slotted his thick fingers between Link’s toes and _squeezed_. Link’s legs began to shake. “The Beasts are all gonna see you, all filthy, wearing high heels, making a mess of yourself, moaning like some schoolgirl.”

Link groaned, a long, low, guttural keening. His eyes flew open, and he frantically grabbed for a sofa pillow, planting it squarely on his own lap. “Rhett-” He choked, but he froze when he met Rhett’s steady, hot gaze. Rhett’s grip on his ankle was like steel. He probably couldn’t move if he tried. He licked his lips.

“Lay down, Link,” he said evenly. “You’re not done yet.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Okay,” Link breathed, slowly leaning back down to rest his head, securing the pillow over his lap again. Rhett rolled his eyes and batted it away. Link somehow knew better than to fuss, was somehow freed by the arm he’d slunk down over his eyes, like somehow if he couldn’t see how desperately hard this whole situation had made him, then he wouldn’t have to talk about this later in couples’ counselling with Christie.

At length, his thoughts cleared as Rhett’s strong hands worked sleek ribbons of pleasure winding up his legs, at times urgent and bright, at others slowly pulsing. He wondered when Rhett would be finished, decisively _needed_ him to be finished. The sensation had left him shaking, squirmy, and soaked with sweat. If only Rhett would just shut up until he finished.

But Rhett was spurred on by the telltale curve of thick, hard cock straining against the placket of Link’s slacks. He felt his own pulse coursing through him as he drank in the sight of Link’s shirt edging up to flash a bit of pale, slim hip. He wanted to shut his mouth, but he found he couldn’t. “You couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“Fuck you,” Link hissed, but the venom was belied by a knowing grin.

“You’ve said a hundred times already that we can’t,” Rhett pointed out, and Link hated him for bringing _that_ tired conversation screaming back from the vaults.

“What would your wife think?” Link spat, trying desperately not to gasp when Rhett crooked his thumbs _just right_ against his tender arches.

“She’d probably want to watch,” Rhett purred, nearly coming out of his skin at his own boldness. “You could fuck her too, if you wanted to. I’d let you. Y’all could give me some more yard children.” Link half thought he’d come out of his own skin if Rhett kept talking impossible filth to him like that.

“Shut up,” he growled, thankful for his arm resting heavy over his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle the way Rhett was undoubtedly watching him, like a starving man just praying for a taste of something good. And just when Link thought Rhett had had his fill of toying with his fractured self-control, just when he thought Rhett would at last free him from this agony, slap some paint on his nails and send him off to his own desk with a raging fucking hard on... 

He felt a strange, new touch that shot a bolt of need scorching through his entire soul. With a jolt, he looked down to find Rhett gripping his ankle, ecstatically slipping Link’s long toes into his watering mouth between full, pink lips. Rhett’s eyes were so _fucking_ hungry, like he was lapping honey from the dripping dick of Zeus. Link’s brain short circuited, fell into safe mode, registered just about fuckall but for the raspy warmth of Rhett’s breath and beard brushing over his skin. The hot, slick, gentle drag of lips and teeth over the ball of his foot. The mind-numbing, cock-throbbing pulse of Rhett’s wet, agile tongue working into the tender, untouched flesh between his toes. The gorgeous drips of saliva skating down from Rhett’s swollen, stretched lips to Link’s arch, his heel, his ankle, as the man sucked and _sucked_...

His brain didn’t come back online until long, long after Rhett’s sloppy, ravenous assault on his foot dragged forth (wailing and groaning) a slippery, gushing orgasm that left the crotch of Link’s burgundy slacks stained dark with his release. Even now, he could hear himself still whimpering and panting as the real world pieced itself back together.

Eventually, he was somehow able to look Rhett in the eyes. “Rhett-” He gasped, “fuck-” But before he could finish that thought, a knock sounded at the door, and the two scrambled to cover up Link’s release and Rhett’s urgent desperation.

“Hey, I was wondering if-” But Stevie gasped as she quickly moved to shut the door behind her again, “Oh, shit, I’ll come back later.” Link pulled away from Rhett with a humiliated moan, face beet red as he rooted around in the office for a change of pants. He pointedly ignored Rhett’s self-satisfied smirk.

“I imagine,” Rhett said airily, “that you’ll have to bring this up with that marriage counselor of yours.” Link shot him a peeved glare over his shoulder.

“Rhett James McLaughlin,” he drawled. “I swear to God you’ll be the death of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Rhink fic, so I'd appreciate any critiques if they're too OOC or whatever.
> 
> Also, I have literally one follower on [my new tumblr](Http://mei-ren-yu.tumblr.com), and I'd love new RandL buddies.


End file.
